To The Last Man Standing
by H.K.Faulkner
Summary: After the immediate finale of Project Purity, the Lone Wanderer just wants to die in peace. Preferably without running dry. But, with the Brotherhood of Steel intending to finish the fight with the Enclave, things aren't exactly going the way he had hoped. Or how anybody had even expected. [AU]
1. No Fun for the Dying Man

**[ TO**THE**LAST**MAN**STANDING ]**

After the intimidate finale of Project Purity, the Lone Wanderer just wants to die in peace. Preferably without running dry. But, with the Brotherhood of Steel intending to finish the fight with the Enclave, things aren't exactly going the way he had hoped. Or how anybody even expected. [AU]

* * *

><p>00<strong>1:<strong>  
><strong>-<strong> NO FUN FOR THE **DYING **MAN

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong>001**]**

"Raven Rock, SatCom Array NW-07c... what next? Adams AFB? The Brotherhood is getting bolder."

_"Or you, progressively weaker."_

"I did not call you here to give me lip, Sergeant."

_"Project Purity was just a landmark. Another point in a big ol' game of King of the Hill. Eden should have had you concentrating on wiping the Brotherhood out rather than jockeying for an oversized purification tablet."_

"You're telling us that now?"

_"The situation was hardly suitable at the time, Colonel... but I digress, you already knew that."_

"Right. So what do you suggest, that I dump sticks and just let the damned Boy Scouts pick us off one by one?"

_"Wrong. Right now? Keep your head down as much as possible. The Brotherhood is drunk on victory, irresponsibly so - they'll have something up their Power Armoured sleeves, I'm sure."_

"That puts us in a very dangerous position, son. The Enclave can't hide forever."

_"No, but for the meantime, I happen to know the perfect distraction."_

* * *

><p><strong>: <strong>1734 HRS **[**Local Time**] |** 20, December 2277 **| [** TAGG. LOCATION **:** (1013, 1324) **]** 'Megaton', Washington, D.C** :**

"Thorne, we have a problem."

The voice in which announces this fact is male, familiar and, he realises with a curl of the upper lip, as blunt as the backside of a bloody rifle. He isn't going to lie either; it feels like one. Pretty much on cue, he groans himself awake from his post-bender, pre-supper nap and he very nearly responds by grabbing the hilt of his knife and stabbing the talking interruption in the face. He manages the grabbing part, but some part of him realises who he is, who is speaking and as a direct result, he's stopped himself before he's even picked the blade up.

All the better - stabbing is not a particularly friendly of welcoming someone into your home. Even in the Wasteland, it seems.

Coughing breathlessly against the back of his hand, the one known as Jasper Thorne struggles to sit upright. Even though it's well into the afternoon, it's still pretty light out and intense stab of photo-sensitivity makes his eyes ache, so the most he can do is squint at the other man. Dust motes float in the bars of thick orange sunshine that had managed to penetrate the dinge clinging to the outside of the single window. Inside, the house wasn't any were near as dusty; him being him, and being raised in a bachelor sense of independence, had made him to be a neatish creature. The thick beams of light catch on the metallic finish of weapons, of scrap electronics and bare wires. It's his own little laboratory, secret superhero cave, base of operations. As complicated and organised as the man who calls it home.

Blinking uncomfortably against the light, Jasper coughs again, this time a little harder.

"Sheriff."

Resting his worn Type 93 Chinese assault rifle against the side of the door-frame, Lucas Simms removes his hat slowly, passing his gaze over the young man sat half collapsed against his desk chair and then towards the north facing wall which appeared to be dotted with bullet holes. They let in a weak draft, and it's this that the Sheriff feels as he sits down onto the sofa.

"Where is yer' Dog, boy?" Lucas asks, looking around with a lowered brow. Usually, if someone tried to enter the house, they'd be set upon by the large brute of a hound and even if they didn't - you get enough to the door and there would be barking.

"Out." Jasper replies, shifting into a more comfortable position and wincing when his chair presses against the tender slip of skin around his inner elbow. He's not on a Rad-Away IV at the moment, so it remains unbandaged. The skin is littered with puncture wounds, marks from where the tape had left sticky residue and dirtied.

The girl, Maggie, is probably out walking him then. She really loves the dog, but that's only half of it. After the ungodly daily Rad-Away dose, Jasper couldn't go for a walk on his own accord if he even tried at the moment, much less take the dog.

The Sheriff nods, slowly. It's something he doesn't want to think about. Not really.

As for the one they call the Lone Wanderer however, it's not that simple. He can't ignore what's happening to him. He can't hide behind fake smiles and lies and forced enthusiasm. He knows, and that's it. Jasper ignores the older man's unspoken concern and glances over the back of his shoulder. "You want a drink?" he asks, it's probably the most he's spoken in the past week. "I'm having one, right Wadsworth?"

Wadsworth, the Mister Handy mechanized butler, floats over towards the back of the house, reciting positive agreements all the way.

Then seemingly as an afterthought, Jasper grunts. "My cigarettes too."

They're only on the cabinet at the other side of the room.

Simms shakes his head, giving Jasper a wary look as the boy accepts the carton from Wadsworth. The beer is placed within arm's reach, among a selection of other things. A handgun, a bottle of painkillers and what looks to be a half worn chess set. "You shouldn't be drinking, boy." he grunts and Jasper laughs. It's quiet, drawn out and about the most bitter sounding gesture he's ever made, but it's there none the less.

He shakes his head a few seconds later as he wrestles a cigarette out with the crackle of morose cardboard. "No." he agrees then, holding the end between his lips and fiddling with a lighter. "What's wrong?"

"Water stopped flowing."

He's not surprised to hear this. In fact, he's been expecting that particular statement for a while.

It's not in any way reassuring. Aside from the few shipments of Aqua Pura they get every month or so, the water coming from the local processing plant is the only source for pretty much a mile and a half. There's the stuff in Pre-War water towers, of course, but it's heavily irradiated. It's the only source and it's been steadily breaking down over the course of three months now. If Walter was still around, it wouldn't have been much of a problem.

But Walter isn't around anymore, because Walter is dead. Something in his heart exploded and he passed away during the night. Regrettable of course, but the man was old. Incredibly old for Wasteland standards. Sixty one. He deserved it. To go out quietly.

Jasper on the other hand...

He groans as he rubs at his jaw, a few weeks ago he would have been able to trudge over to whatever needed fixing and get the job done, but it's getting harder and harder to stay independent as of late. He's too weak, or he's too tried, or he's too sore. Sometimes he's all of the above. Especially after a recent dosage.

Although it goes unsaid, he doesn't quite understand why it's necessary. The treatment that is. He's going to die no matter how much Rad-Away they pump into him. If not from the Radiation poisoning, then from an advanced form of cancer a few painful years later, or he'll get sick and die from fever, or a bullet to the brain when he finally decides that enough is enough. He understands why they are helping, of course, they say they owe him. That their debt isn't about to go unpaid.

Well, the ones closest to him, the ones that vaguely understand him, do. The rest of them, people who seem to think he saved them all, they go on and on about how it's their duty, that he deserves it.

He avoids them when he can.

Jasper might have come to terms with his fate, but Simms for one was pretty determined about him getting better. Said that he couldn't have gone to the trouble of all that he did just to die in his bed, sickly and weak. That had made Jasper laugh - really laugh. Simms has a dark sense of humour; you have to, in the Wasteland. He imagines that the Sheriff must feel damn near castrated though, seeing him like this. He wasn't the same brat that had crawled his way out into the Wasteland.

"Did you check the pipes?" he asks, slowly, garbling around the back end of his cigarette and lighting up with a burst of chemical fire.

Simms gives him a faint, sheepish smile. "They look the same to me."

Jasper drags on his cigarette, before exhaling hard and grimacing. Of course. Why did he expect any different? Pausing for a few moments, he ponders on the scenario, fingers drumming weakly against the arm of his chair. He can't know exactly what the issue is, since he hasn't left the house in about two days, but he can have both an educated and intelligent guess. Twigging something up, he brings his arm up to consider his Pip-Boy, pressing a few buttons, flicking through various interfaces until he's come across some of the notes from his Vault days. A few of them. He has a total of 12,034 different 'pages' storied on the hunk of junk.

"It'll be a pressure issue." he says, starting at his Pip-Boy screen and removing the cigarette from his mouth, tapping the lingering ash off the end, before placing it back. '_Need Density0", "Need Q0", "Need D10", "Need D20", "Need pipe angle b 0", "Need P10 absolute", "Need 0 b 6.28 radian", "Need 0 b 360 degrees'. _The words on the screen make little sense, or well, they make sense in an educated sense, but he can't remember why he'd even need them. It's code_. Calculative. Ah-_

Well, that's pretty easy.

"Either one of the pipes has burst, or one of the bends is causing issues."

Simms makes a face. "Bends?"

"Bends in the pipe." Jasper stares at him like he's grown a second head. "There is radial pressure created by the centrifugal force in bends. Because of this, the water at the centre of the pipe moves towards the outer side and comes back along the wall towards the inner side. Creates a double spiral flow. If the bend curvature is strong enough, the adverse pressure gradient near the outer wall and inner wall just after the bend may lead to flow separation, giving rise to a large increase in pressure losses." Simms stares at him for a few moments and Jasper just shakes his head. "Have as many people as you can check the pipes for leaks - if there isn't any water coming out, then you'll need to get Moria."

"I'd rather not rely on that woman." Simms sighs. He's being a little suggestive, but Jasper doesn't take the bait, just leans down and reaches for something. The something turns out to be a toolbox, it's heavy and Simms almost makes to help him, but a remarkably solid kick stops him in his tracks.

"Sometimes we don't have a choice." Jasper says idly as he stubs out his cigarette and moves over towards his beer, slamming it against the side of the table and knocking the cap off. "I want that toolbox back - they're Vault Tec, and mine, if anyone starts selling the tools inside it, I'll know and they'll regret it. Don't make me remind them that I can still fire a gun, Simms."

Simms manages to crack a small smile. "You're starting to sound like your old self."

"My old self?" Jasper grunts. "I'm dying of radiation poisoning, not growing a new personality." another long swig of the beer and he musters as much disinterest as he can manage. "You need to fix the pipes, and I'm getting real bloody tired."

It's true, the painkillers and general intensity of the medication he's on is exhausting him, even though he hasn't done anything remotely physical today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. He hasn't been this worn down in a long time, at least that he can remember.

Jasper grimaces. It's just another sign of the inevitable.

Replacing his hat with a curt nod, Simms stands slowly and he lifts the toolbox, giving it a bit of a shake. "If this doesn't work, I'll be back." in response, Jasper grunts his assent. It's not something he looks forward to with any sort of pleasure, but Simms doesn't like letting Moria anywhere near the water supply, and for good reason - the woman is as crazy as a bag of hammers. Still. It would be nice to get a sense of peace, even if it is filled with the occasional sound of gunfire or some form of mutated Wasteland creep. He can only ask for so much, after all. He's just about to take another drink when there comes a solid, hard knock at his door. Simms never knocks. Neither does Jericho. But then, Jasper only started knocking because he walked in on him and Nova going at it on the table once, and that's the sort of sight that a man can't drink away. It could be Jenny, but she came today to help with the IV. Why she'd be back, he has no idea. He made it clear that he didn't want any form of tea-party - she was here on business and that is it.

It's hard to look a woman in the eye when she's regularly paid to heave your drunken irradiated ass into bed and clean vomit off the floor, after all.

It does turn out to be Jenny, and he frowns. She scowls back at him and for a moment, he's mildly confused, and perhaps a little offended, he hasn't done anything to deserve such an expression. "I'm sorry, Jasper. I told her but-" she turns her head to scowl at someone or something out of sight. Ah, so he hadn't done anything wrong. Not that he cares, really. Ever since Project Purity, getting on Jenny's nerves has become one of his few sources of entertainment.

Before he can even demand to know what the hell she's going on about, Jenny is shoved unceremoniously out of the way by six feet of power armour, blonde ponytail and irritated attitude.

Jasper blinks, sitting down the liquor with a sad thud. Now's not the time.

"The fuck do you want _now_, Lyons?"


	2. Uncooperative Efforts

**[ TO**THE**LAST**MAN**STANDING ]**

* * *

><p>00<strong>2:<strong>  
><strong>-<strong> **UNCOOPERATIVE** EFFORTS

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong>002**]**

_"I told you, it's a perfectly good idea."_

"You could be exposed at any moment. Please do explain how that qualifies as, 'A perfectly good idea'."

_"Yes, yes, there is the immediate threat of execution and whatnot, but isn't that how the saying goes? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"_

"Correct. But I still think it's a terrible idea. What if they realise, what then? They are relentless, if they find you, they'll dig you out. You'll be an exposed nerve."

_"If it ever comes to that, we better start moving faster... and just bloody well prey that all hope for the Wanderer is gone by the time it happens."_

"We'll try to keep it discreet."

_"Good. I have a contact in Rivet City, he'll create the necessary noise. If everything goes to plan, they'll go right where we want them to, arms a' ready and war a' whooping."_

"You really get a kick out of pulling the Brotherhood's strings, don't you?"

_"I find it therapeutic."_

"Good for you, Sergeant."

* * *

><p><strong>: <strong>1802 HRS **[**Local Time**] |** 20, December 2277 **| [** TAGG. LOCATION **:** (1013, 1324) **]** 'Megaton', Washington, D.C** :**

When Sentinel Sarah Lyons moves into the Lone Wander's home, she expects to see the very picture of a dying man; weakness, fatigue, sadness and perhaps, a little flicker of regret, sometimes pain. She's comforted dying Brotherhood troops before and they had shown similar attributes. She had expected for him to show these signs too. Harder, stronger man had tried to hide it and failed.

But, apparently, the Lone Wanderer was a different kettle of fish. Because if Jasper Throne was dying - he wasn't showing it.

Lowering a half emptied bottle of alcohol against the table with a soft clank, brows furrowing together as he scrutinised her from across the room, Jasper blinks. Something hostile filtered over his features before he pulled on his usual expressionless mask, turning towards the woman in the jumpsuit, the one who had tried her damn hardest to stop Sarah from seeing him. They debate wordlessly between one another and, eventually, Jasper turns back towards Sarah, frown deepening.

"The fuck do you want now, Lyons?" he rumbles in question, he doesn't look anywhere near her face when he asks, just sort of stares at his beer bottle. Not that it's unusual, really. Then he seems to consider the silence that follows, jaw hardening. "Go."

For a sickening moment, she thinks that the Wanderer is addressing her, but then his head turns a little and flicks his umber brown gaze towards the woman.

"Are you sure?" she asks, giving Sarah a long, distrustful look. Jasper nods his head. "Well... do you need anything?"

"No." he hesitates then, stressing the words as he says them. "But thank you."

The woman turns towards the door, giving Sarah another look, before turning over her shoulder to address him as she leaves. "I'll be back with dinner at about half seven."

"Sure."

Then she frowns at Sarah. "Don't you go pull anything stupid now."

Sarah wonders what the hell she means by that, and she's about to demand for an explanation when the woman flounces outside, shutting the door behind her. They are alone now, and the room feels both empty and suffocating all at once. Jasper seems to evaluate her quickly, examining her from the tips of her boots to the end of her ponytail. After a few seconds of silence, he opens his mouth slowly, still relatively expressionless. The hazy light of developing evening makes him an emblazoned silhouette, basking in liquid amber beams.

"People don't trust the Brotherhood out here." is all he says, possibly in explanation to the woman's behaviour.

He seems to expect her reaction, because he leans back nonchalantly to consider his drink again. "After everything we have done for them?" Sarah scowls; he just gives her a flat look.

"You forget that the Brotherhood has little to no presence outside DC." is all he says as he throws an arm towards the couch and she takes the offered seat, Power Armoured form sinking heavily into the cushions. This close up, she can see the signs. His skin wasn't in very good condition, this she had realised after a quick glance. A lot of the softness had been taken away and the bones in his face stuck out a little further. His eyes were bloodshot, there was a developing ulcer on his bottom lip in the left corner and while he hadn't lost his hair yet, the dark thick waves had thinned somewhat. He had always kept his hair short, though. So that was no different.

"How are you?" she asks, a little awkwardly perhaps, but she's not exactly used to _asking_ for help. Her father made it quite clear before she left - if she wasn't polite, he probably wouldn't help and they'd be back to square one. Sarah doesn't quite know what went on between him and the Brotherhood while she was unconscious - and hell, Jasper had always been a little distant - but they've gone from ordering him to do stuff to straight up begging.

Jasper clicks his tongue, keeping his tone carefully nondescript. "Dying." he answers, pretty casually, she thinks.

It's not like the first time they met, or during those short few hours they spent talking in the Citadel back before Project Purity. Something had changed, the most obvious of which being Jasper - and not because of his relationship with the Brotherhood.

To put it simply, Jasper was a man now.

It's strange how people change so quickly. A few months ago he was some weird adolescent sort of attractive. His ears had stuck out a bit and his features were just a little too sharp to be conventional, but now, even though he was supposed to be on death's door, he'd grown. Since Sarah had last seem him last, which was a good two to three months ago, give or take, what was once gangly awkward sinew had blossomed into hardened and pretty damn confident muscle. His frame had evened out properly, leaving him with broad shoulders and a well-proportioned torso. Having passed the embarrassing stages of development, all the abstract angles of his face had since softened into prominent cheekbones and a strong chin. Hell, even his voice had broken, finally dropping into a deep baritone that resonated from his chest as opposed to the naturally accusative drawl he had previously.

So yeah, he's pretty handsome now, but Sarah doesn't notice that. Partly because it's not the Jasper she's used to seeing. Not the Jasper she can predict. Something aside from his physique has changed - part of his psyche.

She doesn't know what to predict. Not at all. He was on the higher ground of the playing field now.

"Three Dog... his broadcasts... we thought you were getting better not _worse_." Sarah turns away slightly. It's true, from all the stories that had been told on GNR, you'd think that the Lone Wanderer was an unstoppable killing machine, barely even affected by his big fat dose of radiation.

"I was exposed to seventeen to thirty rads per second in that Purifier." Jasper states, unblinking. Something in his voice has changed and he seems distant. Uncaring. "Considering how long I was in there for, that's over nine thousand millisieverts. I should be dead, not just dying." then, he shakes his head ever so slightly, eyes narrowing. "You want me to help you, with what I can only assume, but it doesn't change anything. The matter still stands - I can't help you, Sarah. I'm not in any condition to go around shooting mutants."

"It's not the mutants." Sarah is quick to state. How Jasper knows she want's help... she doesn't quite know. Perhaps it's obvious, why else would she be here? That thought makes her internally frown. "We've got that under control. It's the Enclave." slowly, he exhales. Folding one leg over the other and tracing the edge of his beard in thought. A flick of the gaze prompts her to explain. "We are seeing less and less of them over time, but we've had a tip off that they're holding a satellite relay station in Rockland."

"A tip off?" he almost seems unconvinced.

"One of the traders. He had a bunch of working Enclave radios to sell, said that a lot of them were still broadcasting and when we took a look, we realised that we might be able to learn how the Enclave are still able to communicate and coordinate their forces, even though Raven Rock is gone. We guess that the Relay Station would be able to provide answers." Sarah explains. There is a hesitant few seconds as he takes it all in. Thoughtful look on his face, he continues to muse for a very long time.

"I assume you'll be going in guns blazing." he mutters and she pulls a face.

"Yup." What else?

He seems oddly satisfied by that statement, but it's replaced as soon as it surfaces. "I'm not going to be much of a use in a firefight against the Enclave."

"You don't look... that bad." Sarah tries lamely and he gives her a pretty flat look in return.

"It's not the radiation poisoning."

Silence follows the statement and he looks away. Sarah leans against her knees, not quite getting it. "Then what is it, Thorne?"

He gives off a long, beat sigh. Idly rolling his eyes as he shifts. "The medicine that's being used to treat me. Rad Away is an intravenous chemical solution that bonds with radiation particles and passes them through the body's system. It takes time to work, and is also a potent diuretic. It gives me headaches after a few minutes of it being administrated, and stomach and chest pains for the better part of the day afterwards. Add that to the cocktail of drugs I'm using to combat bacterial infections, fever and vomiting and I'm pretty much floored." the explanation leaves her ears ringing and she bites her lip.

"If you stopped using them?"

The flat look only gets flatter at the suggestion. "I'd still be irradiated. And in a stupid amount of pain." before she can go into some kind of charade about her not being any form of expert, he just huffs, chest surging. "Not that it matters. The damage is done."

"... There has to be something... perhaps the Brotherhood-" Sarah frowns when he cuts her off, tone sharp, but simple.

"I don't trust the Brotherhood."

Standing slowly onto shaking legs, Jasper half hobbles, half pads over towards one of the desks, leaning against it heavily on his knuckles. "Clearly, you want me in this fight. Fine. Understandable. But you have to realise that my track record no longer applies." looking at her darkly over his shoulder, his face is expressionless. "I'm dying, Sarah. Nothing... at least that I've seen... can stop that." then, he tilts his head, somehow expecting her reaction before she can even give it, again. "If I'm going to be any use at all, then I'll have to go visit someone."

"Why... do they have something? Something that could help?" she pretends to miss how her enthusiasm is raised.

Jasper shrugs. "It's a long shot. I had a contact up north who I recommended to the resident doctor in Tenpenny Tower. If they have managed to pull through... they might have a series of medications to make the side effects... bearable." his eyes flicker at her, jaw shifting to the side when he realises that his expectations to her reaction were met. How the bastard does it, she doesn't know. Nor does it make her any more comfortable. "I'd have to go and see him."

"Tenpenny Tower?" Sarah makes a face. "What the hell is a guy like you doing in a place like that?"

"Does it matter? No. It doesn't." Jasper suddenly spits, his expression crumpling into something vaguely hostile.

"Even then, it's a helluva long way to go." she reasons, trying to stay on his good side. God, what could get him so defensive? She makes a mental note to prod him at a later date... when he can't get out of it. "I told my father that you were willing to help, that I'd get you there as soon as possible. We have men waiting on us."

"Too bad." the whole thing was wasted on him it seems. "Either you come half way, or I stay here." then, he snorts, voice turning darker, jaw clenching. "I'm not going through hell and back just to die a second time. The first wasn't worth it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the Sentinel demands, making to rise out of her chair.

He simply deflects her with a glance. "You wouldn't get it." then, Jasper huffs under his breath, clearly getting agitated. "Are you coming with me or not? I've got a killer headache and I need something to eat before I go to sleep."

"Fine." Sarah relents after a few seconds of starting. She'll play his game for now. Plenty of time to convince him that the Brotherhood are the good guys on the trip.

"It will take us around a day to get the Tower from here. From there to the Citadel, about two and a half, depending on what we come across." he recalls, moving over towards the front door slowly, grabbing an old, brown leather jacket from a hook in-bedded in the door-frame. "I'm still sick, so we'll be taking three stops per travel, not counting when we bed down for the night. I need time to rest, otherwise I'll get worse - that and I need to keep on my daily drug schedule."

"Why?" Sarah frowns, watching him go wryly. Where the hell does he think he's going?

"My body would probably freak at the chemical imbalance and put me into shock." he answers with an idle shrug. "Anyway. Do you have everything you need?"

"Not.. really." the thought hits her hard. That was something she'd have to deal with, and soon.

"It doesn't matter. Wadsworth, fix the Sentinel with something to eat." he calls over her head, voice wavering ever so slightly. "You can have my room upstairs for the night."

"What about you?" she makes to stand and he just gives her another look.

"I have other... residences. As for why, I need to prepare. I'll see you in the morning - oh-five-hundred." and with that, he's bounced through the door and shut it behind him. He's not much of a teary farewell kinda guy it seems. Sarah sits down slowly, eyeing the messy-but-still-somehow-clean house she was currently stuck in. Well, she doesn't suppose she's stuck per say, but where else could she go?

Or, more importantly. What the hell has she got herself into?

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong>002**]**

* * *

><p><strong>: <strong>1825 HRS **[**Local Time**] |** 20, December 2277 **| [ **UNKNOWN LOCATION - CO. POINT **: **(_ _ _ _, _ _ _ _) **] **, **[** * UNTRACEABLE SECTOR * -_ CONSULT PIP-BOY MAPPING MODULE INFORMATION PACKET _**] :**

The surrounding land around them builds upwards into a sharp faced mountainside, harsh and rugged, with little flat ground to land. They do find it, eventually, right up near the structure they were sent to investigate, cut into the mountain like some form of launch pad. It's around here that the scrappy, off brown grass begins to thin, replaced by crumbling weather-worn earth and radiation battered flysch rock. Two of them examine the area at a strict radius of one hundred metres, noting the way the trees bend, dead, with spindly twigs and the way they cast out long, menacing shadows before the moon. What was once a vibrant area of land filled with plant life of all stripes before the Great War was now a pile of withered looking brown.

The other two forms move towards the large steel doors of a thick concrete structure. Buried into the mountainside, what they were looking at was little more than an airlock of sorts, perhaps an annex, yet the doors were far larger than the Vertibird they had travelled in.

"Is this it?" A woman's voice came out tinny through the speakers, distorted and somewhat unclear, but undoubtedly sceptical.

The slightly larger individual, clad in the very same armour as the smaller, looks along the doors. He nods his head. "Yes, it is." the faint whine of servo motors sounds when he turns his head to look at her. "Get the Colonel on the radio."

She nods her head with a mechanical whine and leaves him to stare at the doors.

Clutching his AER9 laser rifle in his armoured arms, the Enclave soldier moves across the flat section of mountainside slowly, examining the way the ground beneath him was suddenly flat, as if sanded down on a large scale. The doors before him are menacing and cold in their presence and he examines them in silence.

Eventually she returns with a radio in hand and he takes it with a wordless nod, handing her his rifle so he's able to take of his helmet. There is a hiss of pressed hydraulics as he does so, reviling a pale face and shortly cropped hair. "Colonel Autumn, Sir." he greets, voice sounding much smoother without the speakers of his helmet making it anamorphic.

"Lance Corporal Vaughan." the Colonel's voice echoes through the radio with a loud crackle. He seems expectant.

Lance Corporal Christian Vaughan does not blame him.

So he decides to cut it to the chase rather than standing in ceremony. "Sir, we found it."

"... are you positive?"

"Affirmative, Sir. We've found it. Requesting further orders."

"Return back to base..." the Colonel suddenly exhales, Vaughan can feel the weight lifting off the man's shoulders from here. "I will inform the Sergeant immediately."

All four of the Enclave soldiers stand before the great steel doors. "Of course, Sir."

"Good work, Vaughan."

"Thank you, Sir."

The radio is cut on the other side and Vaughan hands it back to his counterpart, though he does not put his helmet back on, instead, he stares forwards with the rest of his men. Along the doors, in bold white lettering, the words stare back at them.

**CAMP SEBASTIAN**

* * *

><p><strong>[ TO<strong>THE**LAST**MAN**STANDING ]**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note of Notifying Notification:<strong>

After a bit of research, it is pretty evident that the radiation levels in Fallout are much less lethal then they are in real life.

For example, in the games, the character will die after being exposed to 1000+ rads or more. However in real life, common symptoms of radiation sickness (I.e., nausea and vomiting) tend to appear at the 100 Rads mark (1000 mGy). 400 Rads (4000 mGy) would ultimately mean death for 50% percent of the cases in a few weeks or less. 600 Rads (6000 mGy) would mean death for 95% of the cases, with damage to the central nervous system, haemorrhaging and profound internal bleeding running it's course, perhaps in a mere few hours. So yes, if a human was exposed to 1000 Rads (10000 mGy), they would be wiped out at once, but realistically - if they did not peruse treatment immediately, they'd be dead by the time they passed the 450 Rad mark.

Typical dosage recorded in those Chernobyl workers who died within a few weeks was 6,000 mGy - and they died of acute radiation poisoning, not the side effects, like a lot of long term suffers do.

In the purifier, the character is exposed to 17-30 Rads/second (170-300 mGy/second), and considering how long they were unconscious for, they could be exposed for a long amount of time. Realistically, they would die from the exposure (Which they do, if you do not have Broken Steel installed.) but considering how the player character is alive for the events of Broken Steel AND that Colonel Autumn survived the original burst of radiation the first time, I decided to mix it up a bit and try to make a balance between the in-game mechanics and lore with actual fact. It should make for an interesting mix, methinks. More background into the medicines we all take for granted in-game ;)

Of course, constructive input is always welcomed - I'd very much like to see what you think!


	3. A Path Well Travelled

**[ TO**THE**LAST**MAN**STANDING ]**

* * *

><p>00<strong>3:<strong>  
><strong>-<strong> A PATH WELL **TRAVELED**

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong>003**]**

"You're late."

_"I'm a busy bee, Colonel."_

"You don't even know what that reference means."

_"You'd be surprised. Regardless, it's the truth. Nothing like GNR propaganda to disrupt productivity."_

"As I'm aware. Your squadron found something of major interest up north."

_"Hang on... you are talking about what I think you're talking about, right?"_

"We've found it. It's hidden in the mountains."

_"And it's still standing?"_

"From what I understand. Your team will be provided with a new set of orders. I've sent team of experts who will pick up where they left off."

_"... God help them."_

* * *

><p><strong>: <strong>0509 HRS** [**Local Time**] | **21st, December 2277** | [ ***WARNING*** **US MILITARIZED ZONE. **] | [** MAP REF# : 0435023-54531'** ] **Mobile Base Crawler, Adams Air Force Base** :**

_WHAM_.

The old, pre-War punching bag took another swing, swaying widely with the momentum. The noise echoes around the small, cramped but comfortable nonetheless quarters he had been issued since the destruction of Raven Rock four months ago, and, with a sudden growl and a harsh exhale, he hits it even harder.

He's not too fond of the memory.

Working out had always helped clear Lance Corporal Vaughan's mind, but this morning it was doing nothing. It leaves him feeling raw. Wound up.

So he starts hitting it even harder.

There's no rhythm to his violence, all of his punches are rushed and uneven. The sounds that amplify off the surface of the punching bag are as just as unsteady. Whack, thunk, hesitate, whu-thunk, smack, bangbangbang hesitate, slam. It makes his head ring in a manner that is not entirely dissimilar to the ringing in your ears when you are fresh out of a firefight. It's a feeling he knows all too well and as he tires himself to an eventual standstill, he gasps out harshly, faint images, memories, clinging to the edges of his vision. It's like he's still out there. His thoughts move through the blur of heightened senses in fantastic confusion. Distant-gunfire floats in, occasionally, the odd explosion.

It's only when the shrill beep of his intercom sounds that he snaps out of it. Spinning around as if expecting for a fight, Vaughan scans the room through narrowed eyes, gaze darting to every nook, surface and wall.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

The dim bisque lighting above him illuminates a spotless, spartan quarters. Discarded equipment neatly placed to one side of his desk, books stacked carefully on the other, uniforms pressed in their lockers. It wasn't any different from his quarters back in Raven Rock, aside from the faint difference in size and the lack of blue lighting, but it's uncomfortable. Unwelcome. It's not his home. Sighing, he's just about to go back to his punching bag when he hears it again. Realising his error, the Lance Corporal half dashes, half scrambles towards it and slams his hand on the receiver. He's just about to explain himself when the voice cuts him off.

"Lance Corporal Vaughan, you have orders to report to Colonel Autumn at oh-five-thirty hours sharp. Office A-B, Launch platform, Sub-Section C." the woman on the other side is monotonous, but it's not the first time Vaughan has heard her - he's quite familiar with her, in fact. Rather than questioning, he barks his assent and turns towards the clock suspended on his desk and very nearly swears. It's five fifteen.

With a quick change and two minute shower, he has ten minutes to get to the Colonel's office.

It's this plan he sets himself.

Aside from a slightly damp sleeve and a distinct lack of deodorant, Vaughan manages to pass for clean and in order as he walks down the corridor at a set place. Saluting at the two guards standing outside the Colonel's office door, he knocks, taking the brief pause between the Colonel's sharp 'Enter!' and him opening the door to flatten down the front of his uniform. It's an unnerving experience to say the least. He's never been called upon to do this before; it was always his commanding Sergeant's honour.

Colonel Augustus Autumn manages a small half smirk when the young Lance Corporal walks in, mostly out of a perverse sense of pride. Though judging by the expression on the Lance Corporal's face, the younger man hadn't noticed it, for instead he moved into the centre of the room, gait troubled by a faint shuffle of reluctance. "Colonel Autumn, Sir." he greets and the Colonel nods his head with curt dismissal, giving the lad a glance over as he does so. Autumn had been quite familiar with the boy's parents back on the Oil Rig, but opposed to general opinion, the Colonel thought that Vaughan favoured his mother more than he did his father. He wasn't as hard-nosed as the older man, smallish but broad-shouldered and with a nasty left hook to boot.

Autumn had never experienced it personally, of course, but judging by the long list on the boy's file, plenty of others had.

Vaughan had a temper - just like his mother, and that woman's ire the Colonel _had_ seen the ugly side of. It's this past experience that makes him cautious, perhaps not wary, but attentive. "Take a seat, son." he grunts, giving the folder one last glance before pushing it across the desk out of the way. He replaces it with another one, thinner, but far more important. "Your recent discovery has been naught but imperative to the Enclave. Well done."

The Lance Corporal nods stiffly as he sits. "Thank you, Sir."

"Tell me, Corporal. What do you know about Camp Sebastian?"

Vaughan raises his eyebrows ever so slightly, face expressionless for a few seconds as he thinks it over. "It's got a big set of doors." he says then, guardedly. "Long pre-war, looks pretty similar to Raven Rock."

The Colonel gives him a small smile. "That's because it _is_ Raven Rock." sliding the thin folder over the table towards Vaughan, Autumn motions for him to take it. "Did you ever notice how our former base seemed inappropriately set out for the scientists? That the laboratories just looked like re-purposed mess hall?" Again, Vaughan nods as he shuffles through the pages. "Raven Rock was supposed to accommodate the Enclave's military personnel. Training, housing - it simply wasn't built with test tubes in mind. Camp Sebastian however had a far different purpose." the Colonel moves forwards, resting his palms flat against the table as he looks at the Lance Corporal anew. "Sebastian was made to provide, a factory for producing arms, a laboratory for producing miracles. It was, in theory, the establishment that would equip the Enclave with the building blocks needed to rebuild America once the country was inhabitable again." he ticks his chin up. "Two headquarters working side by side, with one cause in mind."

"What happened?" Vaughan frowns at the paper, mostly out of curiosity it seemed, rather than in any form of demand. The 'cause' as it were was something he had grown up believing in - something _all_ Enclave-Born soldiers grew up believing in. A lot of them don't understand why it was kicked out of their hands. Or why it could have been in the first place. The Lance Corporal included, it seems.

"Before the Oil Rig was destroyed, President Richardson had little to no interest in the Capital Wasteland. He didn't need one. A few of the scientists however spiked an interest into what Camp Sebastian had to offer, and so, a forty strong team was sent to examine it. Discover it's potential. They never came back, but reported their findings with the site's radio frequency so we guess they found something." the Colonel's face suddenly drops, his tone lowering into something just barely audible. "A few weeks before the Oil Rig, they suddenly dropped all contact. At first, we presumed it was just a communications error. Scientists can get caught up in their work and forget to radio in. After a while, not even the soldiers started reporting in. Then the Rig was destroyed."

Vaughan snaps his head up, brow lowered. "The site was on the opposite side of D.C, all this time."

"That's right." Autumn makes a face as he leans back against his chair, looking up at the ceiling for a few moments. "The records on Camp Sebastian - the access codes, radio frequencies, coordinates, and the list of personnel sent there. They were all destroyed with the Oil Rig. When we got to Raven Rock, it turned out that this site had none of these records either. It was barren almost, a shell in need of filling."

"All those scientists..." Vaughan trails off, his brow scrunching up further then it had before. "Something serious could have happened."

The Colonel gives him a long look. "We pray that isn't the case, those were good people we sent, but it's been thirty five years since the destruction of the Oil Rig. Camp Sebastian was fitted with hazardous content; spores of continent crippling diseases, a nuclear powered generator, the list goes on." giving off a beat sigh, the man just squares his shoulders and sits upright, suddenly all business. "Regardless, that's what the survey team is for. You've done your bit, Corporal and the Enclave thanks you for it. As for now, you recall me sending you and your team to the Capital Wasteland before the mess with the purifier."

Vaughan very nearly smiles. "The Syndicate." he says as he returns the file to the desk gently. "I remember, Sir."

"It's time to put your costume back on." the Colonel laces his hands upon the top of the desk, looking at the Lance Corporal anew. "One of our contacts down south has reported a spike in Brotherhood activity and now, the Sargent has recently confirmed it for us. We need several more boots on the ground in case he gets caught out and needs evac. I can't say where he is now, only that disrupting Brotherhood operations from his end. You understand the need for discretion, of course."

The Lance Corporal's face suddenly twists into something hostile. "And if the 'Lone Wanderer' turns up?"

"Then it'll be a good opportunity to brush up on your acting skills, son. If everything goes to plan, the Boy Scouts and all their little friends won't know what hit them. Literally."

Vaughan nods. "And when do we take out leave, Sir?"

The Colonel gives him a smirk.

"Immediately."

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong>003**]**

* * *

><p><strong>: <strong>0539 HRS **[**Local Time**] |** 21, December 2277 **| [** TAGG. LOCATION **:** (1013, 1324) **]** 'Megaton', Washington, D.C** :**

The area spread out before Megaton's front gates looked the same - with one notable exception. It was empty at this hour in the morning, in fact, Sarah could only make out the vague shapes of Jasper kneeling down, and petting what looked to be his dog and then the shape of Megaton's apparent authority, Simms, who was standing a fair few feet away. When she crosses the distance, she realises with some alarm, then distaste, that he's in a set of T-52a power armour - the type that you see Enclave soldiers wearing. "You look horrible." she says in the way of greeting, instantly regretting her choice of words when he suddenly barks out a laugh and tips his chin up to look at her. He really does look horrible, like, for instance, as if he's on death's door. "In that armour, I mean."

"It's the same in regards to both, I'm afraid." he replies, standing up and decidedly ignoring the way Dogmeat suddenly slinks over towards Sarah, sniffing at her boots. She makes a face and he frowns. "Ignore him, he's getting to know you again. If he was going to hurt you, well..." the frown suddenly lightens up as he snorts. Despite appearances, he's in a good mood this morning.

"Why are you wearing that?" Sarah asks, eyebrows raised. In the uniform of an Enclave soldier, he looks far more menacing. The dark colour of the lightweight composites contrasts against the paleness of his skin and the harsh edges make the bones in his face far more palpable. "Last time I checked, we provided you with power armour. A fully functioning, well-conditioned set of Brotherhood armour."

Jasper sets his jaw, eyeing her own set as if he was an artist criticizing a painting. Or, she realises with a mental smirk, a mechanic examining the insides of defective machine.

"I don't need to tell you that the T-52a set is far more protective, effective and generally superior." is all he says, tilting his head slightly. "Are you ready?"

"I haven't had breakfast." Sarah admits, clipping her laser rifle onto its strap and hanging it over her left shoulder.

Jasper seems to consider this for a few moments, before nodding his head and turning abruptly on the heels of his boots. "We'll be stopping before we get into the Fairfax Ruins, it's usually filled with raiders, despite how many times I've cleared it out. You can eat then." then, in answer to her unspoken question he glances over his shoulder. "I'm not breaking out a campfire. I have a few Vault-grade energy bars in my bag. If they can do me, they can do you."

"Guess that's that then." Sarah nods. Even with the scant provisions he provided, it wouldn't be a terrible trip. The further they got away from Megaton, the greater the risk that they would run afoul of some wildlife, or local inhabitants, but that was nothing to be worried about. None of them were lightly armoured. Jasper especially.

"Here." he grunts as he bends down over towards one side of the entrance to pick up two pistols, one in each hand, he offers them out to her. "Pick one."

Sarah frowns up at him, eyes narrowed. "I have a gun."

"You have one gun." he mutters. "And we're moving slower than I am used to. You need a backup weapon."

Grunting, Sarah looks towards the two handguns. The one in his left hand was the standard 44. magnum, but by the looks of it, the scope had been yanked off and in the other was a handgun she didn't recognise. It was massive in Jasper's hand, a green tinted grey with a wooden grip. "What the hell is that?" she asks, indicating towards the unfamiliar handgun.

"12.7mm pistol." he says dully, then tilts his head and clicks his tongue. "Well, if we wanted to get technical, 14mm re-chambered for 12.7mm rounds."

"I've never seen anything like it before." she admits, frowning at the pistol as if it was going to suddenly jump up and rip her head off.

Jasper smirks. "They aren't very common around here, they were, back in what you call the survivor era, but spare parts are hard to come by and the number of working models has swiftly declined. I found it broken further west, my employer got it fixed up."

"How's it handle?"

Adjusting his grip so he could hold it properly, he tests it weight and purses his lips, glancing at Sarah's own hands. It doesn't take her long to realise he's calculating for her, rather than himself. "You're a strong woman." he notes absently. "Regardless, it's hard to aim correctly. Punches holes the size of fucking grapefruits in unarmoured targets though."

"The hell is a grapefruit?" Sarah frowns and he blinks, momentarily surprised. Then he wordlessly shifts so his hands are free, holding the firearms between his arms and his torso, before making a guesstimate sized sphere with his hands. "Fucking hell." Sarah's brow shoots upwards.

"Try not to get hit." is all he says, offering out the two handguns again. Sarah takes the magnum. Better with a gun she recognises. Jasper nods wordlessly, holstering the 12.7mm and unshouldering his backpack, taking a box of bullets out and handing it to her after a few seconds of hesitation. "We're ready." he calls over his shoulder and Simms moves forwards, signalling upwards towards someone out of Sarah's sight range. Slowly, the doors begin to creak open and the Sheriff turns towards Jasper, clasping his armoured arm with a firm nod.

"You take care of yourself now."

Jasper just nods.

"You too, Brotherhood." Simms glances at her, Sarah too finds herself nodding. Without saying anything, Jasper clasped what looked to be heavily modified AEP7 laser pistol and suddenly powered on forwards. Sarah followed, directly behind. Simms didn't wait to see how they fared, he turned and the doors slowly shut behind him. Soon it was just her and Jasper, walking at a hard, fast pace. Buildings stood around them, standing to two or three stories in height. Others had buckled and toppled, leaving rubble strewn all over the ground.

It was a good ten minutes or so when Sarah spoke up again. "Where'd you get the pistol?" she asks and he flicks his gaze towards her.

"The SIG-Sauer?"

"The AEP7."

Jasper laughs. "Autumn."

Sarah's eyes widen and he stifles a grunt as he starts climbing up a few stray blocks of rubble. The road had collapsed here, having fallen apart with age and weathering.

"He was there when my father died, in the purifier. Obviously he didn't die with him. He left the pistol behind though. I found it when I went in there to activate it." his voice is suddenly tense and he starts walking again at his usual pace. Then, he chances the subject. "I usually run the distance."

"To the tower?" Sarah asks, evidently not believing the claim. He just snorts. "Care to demonstrate?"

He turns towards her, eyebrow cocked upwards.

"When I'm dying?"

He wasn't comparing himself to her, he was comparing himself to himself before the Purifier. Sarah looks away.

They walked in silence for a while longer, right up until Sarah's feet were beginning to hurt. She saw a few birds during the trip, but nothing else, perched on poles and buildings. Rusted metal wrecks sat here and there along the street, brown crumbled plants had forced their way through the cracks, giving the road a wiry, uneven look. The sky had started to lighten when they began to look more urban looking, streets gradually formed around them and Jasper suddenly stopped. Dead. Looking around, he titled his hand and looked towards Dogmeat, who had been obediently walking by his side for the entire trip. "Go Tower." he says slowly, stressing each word and bending down with his hands on his knees to look the animal straight in the face. "Dogmeat, _Tower_."

Dogmeat hesitates, letting out a flat whine.

"Go!"

The dog does, bolting off in a different direction at a full on sprint. Sarah frowns. "He knows where he's going?"

"Usually." he grunts. "I don't want him here if it turns out to be a firefight. I think eating will have to wait, if you don't mind."

"It's fine. Why?"

"Raiders." he mutters. Moving across, he looks further down one street and nods. Sarah can hear it too, faint gunfire in the distance. "Either they're practicing, or they're in a fight."

"Sounds like they're close." Sarah nods. "Keep on my left, at a good distance."

"Ten meters." Jasper glances at her. In silent agreement, they walk on, guns ready and double bent.

They do find the raiders eventually, walking across an overturned bus that blocked the expanse of the street. Something of a barricade. Sarah could see at least six from her position, one of them carrying what looked to be a massive sledgehammer and the others with either rifles or machine guns in their possession. This, however, did not seem to worry Jasper. The Sentinel glanced towards him and the Wanderer tilted his head ever so slightly, acknowledging that she too had seen them. Accelerating, he moved towards them at an angle, hand moving towards a combat knife she hadn't seen before. Sarah meanwhile knelt behind the rear end of a wrecked automobile, bringing her laser rifle up and tracking one of the raiders along the top of the bus. Three on the top, the three on the ground below them.

Jasper had seemly decided that it was the latter three that he was tackling. He followed her lead, ducking behind a car and pausing to have a think.

The Wanderer suddenly moved, hurdling to his feet and sprinting perpendicular to them, his laser pistol raised up at the three raiders, then towards the one in the middle. Without hesitation, he fired and pretty much on cue, they followed. The street exploded with noise. Pistol firing, he moved closer to the raider before him, who was unnerved, clearly, that he was running right at her. Without warning, he lunged the knife straight into her shoulder and she screamed out with pure, primal pain. Jasper meanwhile ignored this, still firing at the raider further along, who now decided that it wasn't safe and ducked behind a nearby half wall. Spinning her around, the Wanderer uses her as a form of human shield, turning up to fire at the ones up on top of the bus.

Sarah adjusts her aim towards the one that had the best shot at Jasper and fired, the beam projectile catching the raider right between the collarbones. He screams out, hand flying to grasp at the burning skin, feet kicking out. He falls over the side and out of view.

His battery having run out, Jasper wordlessly slams it back into its holster, grabbing the 12.7mm and raising it, aiming for the raider closest to him. The Wanderer fires once, but it misses. Luckily, the raider isn't the smartest thing on the planet and he sprawls across the around, rolling out of the way of the burst. Sarah takes advantage and fires, the beam of her laser rifle burning a hole straight through the raider's temple. The body twitches for a few moments and Jasper, thankful for it being taken care of, slams his hand up towards one of the raiders up on the bus, sending off one singular shot. It meets home and the raider suffers a very splattery end, chunks of skull, blood and brain matter spraying everywhere.

It's at this point that the raider he was holding was starting to fuss. Spinning around, Jasper puts his back towards the raiders and ducks his head, bullets pinging harmlessly off his armoured form as he shoves the raider away, firing off twice. She doesn't get back up and the Wanderer spins around again on his heels, firing off at his hip. The 12.7mm is loud and it results a few of the raiders ducking back down again, even though it hit nowhere near them.

Backpedalling fast, he ran backwards towards Sarah and was seemingly set on going further, but he changed his mind at the last minute. Skidding to a violent halt, Power Armoured boots kicking up asphalt as he takes cover behind another automobile, he uses the force to swing his assault rifle around on its strap, the shortness of the fabric it seems being deliberate, for it slams straight into his arms. Sarah inserts another battery into her rifle and moves upwards again, finger pressing against the trigger as she fires at another one of the raiders on the bus. He ducked at the last minute and fired back, making Sarah duck back down again. To give her time, Jasper fired blind over the top of the car. The Sentinel moves up again and fires, catching one in the leg. He's quickly replaced by two others who come in from another side street.

"Shit, Thorne they're coming at us!" Sarah snarls and turns towards him, Jasper looks back at her just long enough for her to identify the dark look spread across his features.

"Good."

Moving away from his cover, Jasper seemingly decides on taking on the two closest to him on his side and Sarah moves up against her own cover, getting ready to pop up and unleash hell.

However that would have to wait, because what came next completely made her pause. If she cared for such sentimental bullshit, she'd say it was poetry in motion. Jasper suddenly vaulted over the car he was using as cover, twisting in mid-air like a diver. A tongue of flame erupted from the assault rifle at his hip and the first raider staggered backwards, blood and viscera splatting across the street just behind him. He landed close to the other raider and with a snarl, snapped a kick at her. There is a reason they call it _Power_ Armour, the crunch of bone and the sickening noise that a limp body made when it finally landed were clear as day to Sarah. When Jasper pirouetted and fired again at the two remaining raiders, he overbalanced and fell down, crawling to cover as bullets hailed around him.

It's here that Sarah remembers that this Jasper isn't the Jasper Thorne that you heard about in the radio broadcasts, that he's actually sick, and dying. Ignoring the way worry wraps around her chest as she pops up again, she zeros in on the raider furthest towards the left and fires. The laser hits him once on the arm and he spins around with a shout, so she fires again, thrice. Two of them hit his chest and he staggers back, shrapnel flying everywhere as he fires.

His counterpart tries to find where Sarah was hiding, but he doesn't get the chance. By the time he even has a good idea, Sarah has fired off four shots and his corpse is left smouldering behind the mailbox he was using as cover.

Without thinking, the Sentinel moves upwards, checking her corners and surroundings as she half jogs over towards where Jasper had fallen. She finds him sprawled over the curb, faintly more pale and sickly then he looked before the fight, but with a scowl upon his face and propped up on his elbows. He deflates when he realises it's her and drops his handgun. "You got the bastards?" he asks, curtly, weakly bringing an arm up in wordless need. She lowers herself and grabs his arm, helping him slowly. She only lets go when she's sure he can stand without toppling over.

"Yeah, but more'll be on the way."

"Of course." he grimaces. "Fuck. We need to go. Now. Andale." then he lets out a throaty gasp and blinks. "Feel lightheaded. I haven't been a fight like that for a long time."

Sarah stares him for a few moments, surprised. "You decimated them."

"Don't remind me."

The rest of the trip is spent in relative silence and Jasper walks in a somewhat varied straight line. At one point, Sarah had to push him in a different direction before he walked straight into a ditch. "Here." she mutters when they get close to Andale. "Let me take that."

"Hmm?"

"The bag."

He wordlessly removes it and she pulls it off, holding it in her left hand. The ruins around them are smaller here, more domestic, but completely empty. She stops slightly, looking around with a frown. "Killed everyone here." Jasper mutters.

"What?" Sarah frowns at him and he scowls.

"Cannibals. They ate people. Cut 'em up and made the bits into fucking pies. So I killed them."

"Shit."

"Yeah. No pies that time, though."

When they manage to find a house that wasn't completely destroyed and didn't bear any markings of being tempered with, it was close to mid-day. Jasper tried the door, but it was locked. Being too tired to try anything, he waves towards Sarah and moves out the way, she manages to get the door open with a few solid kicks.

The Sentinel walked in first, it was a dark room, despite the light from the open door flooding in. She could make out another door further into the house and she avoided the junk as she walked over towards it; dusty piles of broken glass and items that had begun to rot or crumble away.

"Let's take a look around." Jasper frowns, pressing and holding down a button on his Pip-Boy, suddenly, the room lit up a little with a soft green light. Sarah led the way out, into a dark hall which then opened up into a bigger room. Stairs led up. Jasper went walking upwards, his gait somewhat stiffer then it was beforehand. The first bedroom was about nine feet long and probably about eleven wide, not very big, but the window led out into the street and it was the lightest ]out of all of the rooms.

Jasper collapsed heavily onto the sofa and grimaced. "Bag." he grunts and Sarah throws it towards him wordlessly, examining the scene out the window. It still had its pane, though it was dirtied, enough to make looking out of the corners impossible.

"How long before we get to the Tower?" she asks and he pauses, lifting his Pip-Boy up and examining it. Sarah realises with a small smirk that there was a hole of sorts cut into the composite, just for his Pip-Boy. It must be annoying, to have to cut holes into your armour just for the device.

Jasper purses his lips. "Well, we're half way there. We followed the road, so it's just a few ways west. My Pip-Boy is an older model, the marker doesn't say, just sorta' tells me where to go. An educated guess... and I'd say it's a good four and a half hours walking. It'll be dark by then." lowering his arm, he considers his bag again and undoes the zip. "Peanut butter-Chocolate, peanut butter crunch, peanut butter cream or peanut butter supreme?" he asks dully and Sarah snorts.

"You a fan, huh?"

That makes him laugh. Even if it was exhausted and weak. "I fucking hate them." he replies. "But they aren't exactly making them anymore." Sarah waves her hand as if to say 'whatever' and he throws one. The Sentinel doesn't hesitate, just sort of rips into the snack. Jasper was right to hate them. They were sickly sweet, but had a texture that felt like paper. Regardless, she managed to force it down. Jasper meanwhile was slowly making his way through several bottles of pills. When he's finished, he drinks down half a bottle of water without stopping. Then gasps and grimaces. "We'll stay here for a few hours. Wait for it to kick in."

Sarah waves the empty packet of the 'Vault-Tec Super Scrumptious Peanut Butter Crunch Energy Bar!' at him. "How did you eat this shit?"

"How do you eat the shit you usually eat?" he counters, eyebrows raised as he sinks further into the sofa. "Least we never ate mutilated Radroach glands."

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong>003**]**

* * *

><p><strong>: <strong>1602 HRS **[**Local Time**] |** 21, December 2277 **| [** TAGG. LOCATION **:** (0576, 0205) **]** 'Tenpenny Tower', Washington, D.C** :**

To say he was relieved to see Tenpenny Tower was an understatement. After getting shot at, pushed to his limit and trekking around the Wasteland. He was _delighted_ to slam his first into the intercom at the gate.

"Open the door." he barks without identifying himself and, like expected, Gustavo starts snapping straight away. "Don't give me that bullshit, 'Cap. Or I'll turn you onto ghoul food." Jasper growls, pushing away from the intercom and idly watching as the doors begin to open. He doesn't mean it, of course. Comments aside, he actually quite liked Gustavo. He and Jasper... _understood_ one another. Gruff but good natured, the Chief was the kind of person who operated with a 'Don't give me grief, just doing my job' mindset. Though he did turn into a no-nonsense hardass when anyone on his team or those he considered charges were put into danger.

Jasper should know.

Yes, you could indeed say he and Gustavo did understand one another.

"Holy fuck, kid." he barks as he comes through the gate, a few of his security team poking out on either side of the gate to keep watch. "I didn't think I'd see you up and walking again." he and Jasper shake hands firmly in greeting.

"Neither did I." Jasper replies with a grunt and when Gustavo's glaze flicks over towards Lyons, he nods at him. "She's clean, one of the Brotherhood soldiers who helped with the Purifier. Sarah, this is Gustavo. He's in charge of security here."

Gustavo and Sarah share a nod. "Providing she keeps her nose clean, I don't give a damn. Same goes for you, squirt."

Really, with the way he's grown, Jasper wasn't much of a 'squirt' anymore, but he guesses the nickname has stuck and just smiles. He feels like shit. "Did Dogmeat get here safely?"

"The Dog, yeah. One of my boys took it up to your suite, per usual. Put some water out too, but he didn't know what to do about food."

Jasper deflates with relief and nods, then, something hits him and he suddenly grunts. "Burke in a good or bad mood today?" he asks then, frowning up the doors ever so slightly.

"Meh, so-so. That Syndicate lot are back, so he's been in business. Haven't seen much of him."

"Syndicate?" Sarah frowns and Jasper scowls.

"The merc group from further west." his eyes narrow as he thinks back.

"Wrong. North. What, the radiation go and fry your brain?" Gustavo grunts. "Speaking of which, you aren't turning to no ghoul are you? Hate'd waste bullets on your ass, of all people."

"No." Jasper smirks. "It was one short burst, rather than prolonged experience." looking past the Chief, he grimaces at the faint shine of bright white combat armour. Syndicate. He'd met them before. A few times actually. They were Burke's personal merc team, or something along similar lines. More personal than the Talon Company. Understandably, he and them did not mix. Burke's employees tended to range in degrees of hostility and those guys were close to the top.

Speaking of hostility. Someone else catches his eye and Jasper internally swears with enough volume to make himself grimace. "I thought you fucking said he was in a 'so-so' mood!" he grits out and Gustavo frowns. Turning, they both look towards the doors when no other then Mister Jonathan T. Burke comes thundering through. He's wearing no hat nor glasses today, Jasper notes with a pathetic sense of idle understanding and his gaze lands on Sarah. "I'd stay back if I were you." he warns, before reluctantly trudging towards his employer.

With Burke, Jasper had developed something he come to lovingly call 'The Scale'. Right now, he'd guess that Burke was on the fifth or sixth level of the Scale. Which was bad. Very bad. For convenience's sake, it started at one and finished at ten, or, as it is actually labelled on the Scale, from 'mildly vexed' to 'ball-breakingly incensed'. One is about when Burke realises that Jasper's been stealing his cigarettes. Ten on the other hand, is probably at the level when he tries to throw the younger man over the balcony.

Which hasn't happened yet, obviously. It says a lot about his behaviour as of late... or, more realistically, about Burke's apparent patience levels.

"Jasper." Burke greets levelly when they get within a few feet of one another. Despite having shot up over the past few months and standing in Power Armour, he still only came up to Burke's chin. He stared at Jasper like he'd grown on purpose just to annoy him.

Grunting, the younger man stops at respectable distance and tries to turn his frown into something a tad more respectful. "Burke." he replies, curtly. He was expecting a handshake, but what he got instead was Burke's hand slamming up to grab his jaw. The older man inspects his face for a few seconds, titling it from side to side before nodding slowly. In the end, the so called businessmen just opts to giving him a gentle smack before eyeing Sarah again. His face is expressionless, per usual, but there's something in his gaze. Something Jasper doesn't like.

"You can explain the reason for your visit later." Burke eventually grits out, giving Jasper a glance before tilting his head up to examine the creeping darkness. "It's late."

"Sure, whatever you say, _boss_."

Another glance, and Burke wordlessly takes his leave. Jasper meanwhile stands there like a useless melon for quite some time, arms folded and face scrunched up in thought. Sarah stops to pause at his elbow, expression showing distrust. "He seemed... delightful."

Jasper just lets out a sudden bark of not-quite-laughter.

"Lady, you don't know the half of it."


End file.
